Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect

And here I dreamt I was a soldier
And I marched the streets of birkenau
And I recall in spring
The perfume that the air would bring
To the indolent town
Where the barkers call the moon down
The carnival was ringing loudly now
And just to lay with you
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do
Save lay my rifle down

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
Alright, it’s okay, guess it’s better to turn this way

And I am nothing of a builder
But here I dreamt I was an architect
And I built this balustrade
To keep you home, to keep you safe
From the outside world
But the angles and the corners
Even though my work is unparalleled
They never seemed to meet
This structure fell about our feet
And we were free to go

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
Alright, okay, guess it’s better to turn this way

And here in Spain I am a Spaniard
I will be buried with my marionettes
Countess and courtesan
Have fallen ‘neath my tender hand
When their husbands were not around
But you, my soiled teenage girlfriend
Or are you furrowed like a lioness
And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
Alright, it’s okay, guess it’s better to turn this
But I won, so you lose
Guess it always comes down to
Alright, it’s okay, guess it’s better to turn this way

A Cautionary Song

There’s a place your mother goes when everybody else is soundly sleeping
Through the lights of beacon street
And if you listen you can hear her weeping,
She’s weeping, cause the gentlemen are calling
And the snow is softly falling on her petticoats.
And she’s standing in the harbour
And she’s waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat.
See how they approach

With dirty hands and trousers torn they grapple ’til she’s safe within their keeping
A gag is placed between her lips to keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming
And they row her out to packets where the sailor’s sorry racket calls for maidenhead
And they’re scarce above the gunwales when her clothes fall to a bundle and she’s laid in bed on the upper deck

And so she goes from ship to ship, her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
‘Til at last she’s satisfied the lost of the marina’s teeming minions, and their opinions

And they tell her not to say a thing to cousin, kindred, kith or kin or she’ll end up dead
And they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the harbour where she goes to bed, and this is how your fed

So be kind to your mother, though she may seem an awful bother, and the next time she tries to feed you collard greens, Remember what she does when you’re asleep

Odalisque

There’s a place your mother goes when everybody else is soundly sleeping
Through the lights of beacon street
And if you listen you can hear her weeping,
She’s weeping, cause the gentlemen are calling
And the snow is softly falling on her petticoats.
And she’s standing in the harbor
And she’s waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat.
See how they approach

With dirty hands and trousers torn they grapple ’til she’s safe within their keeping
A gag is placed between her lips to keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming
And they row her out to packets where the sailor’s sorry racket calls for maidenhead
And she’s scarce above the gunwales when her clothes fall to a bundle and she’s laid in bed on the upper deck

And so she goes from ship to ship, her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
‘Til at last she’s satisfied the lost of the marina’s teeming minions, and their opinions

And they tell her not to say a thing to cousin, kindred, kith or kin or she’ll end up dead
And they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the harbor where she goes to bed, and this is how your fed

So be kind to your mother, though she may seem an awful bother, and the next time she tries to feed you collard greens, Remember what she does when you’re asleep

Cocoon

This cocoon, caught in Vesuvius’ shadow
Only the ashes remain
And I waited there for you
Why couldn’t you?
Here we lie waiting for something to startle
To shake us from gravity’s pull
And so the sleeping hours are through
What can we do?

The tainted election, the low dirty war, it happened before you came to
But this is solution, and this is amends
The joke always tends to come true
But there on your windowsill over the unmoving platoon
Written in paperback, the key to the quarterback’s room
Under waning moon

This quiet serves only to hide you
Provide you
What I knew: it’d come back to you

Take this palm, follow the lines here are written
And script out the rest of your life
And feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back

The sorry conclusion, the hole in the sky
Command what is tried, what is true
But without solution, with feet on the ground
It won’t make a sound ’til you’re through
So loosen your shoulder blades
This is your hour to make due
Because there on the timberline
Deep cold November shines through
Soft and absolute

Grace Cathedral Hill

Grace Cathedral hill
All wrapped in bones of setting sun
All dust and stone and moribund
I paid twenty-five cents to light
A little white candle
For a New Year’s Day
I sat and watched it burn away
Then turned and weaved
Through slow decay
We were both a little hungry
So we went to get hot dog

Down to Hyde Street Pier
The light was slight and disappeared
The air it stunk of fish and beer
We heard a Superman trumpet
Play the national anthem

And the world may be long for you
But’ll never belong to you
But on a motorbike
When all the city lights
Blind your eyes tonight
Are you feeling better now?

Some way to greet the year:
Your eyes all bright and
Brim with tears
The pilgrims, pills, and tourists here
Will sink fifty-three bucks to buy
A brand new halo

Sweet on a green-eyed girl
All fiery Irish clip and curl
All brine and piss and vinegar
I paid twenty-five cents to light
A little white candle

And the world may be long for you
But’ll never belong to you
But on a motorbike
When all the city lights
Blind your eyes tonight
Are you feeling better now?

The Legionnaire’s Lament

I’m a legionnaire
Camel in disrepair
Hoping for a frigidaire to come passing by
I am on reprieve
Lacking my joie de vive
Missing my gay paris
In this desert dry

And I wrote my girl
Told her I would not return
Terribly taken a turn
For the worse now I fear

It’s been a year or more
Since they shipped me to this foreign shore
Fighting in a foreign war
So far away from my home

If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevards
And the side walk bagatelles it’s like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars,
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine.
Lord I don’t know if I’ll ever be back again.

La la la la dam
La la la low

Medicating in the sun
Pinched doses of laudanum
Longing for the old fecundity of my homeland
Curses to this mirage!
A bottle of ancient Chiraz
A smattering of distant applause
Is ringing in my poor ears

On the old left bank
My baby in a charabanc
Riding up the width and length
Of the Champs Elysees

If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles it’s like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don’t know if I’ll ever be back again

If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles its like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don’t know if I’ll ever be back again…